


Cast On

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [293]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:51:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sparrowsverse requested "Leverage. Parker knits."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cast On

Parker knitted furtively at first, like it was something to be ashamed of.  But sooner or later, living so closely together, they would inevitably stumble on Parker, fingers tangled in yarn.

The first few times, she stashed it so quickly it was like she teleported her needles away.  But, gradually, Parker’s reactions slowed, then stilled, until she kept knitting, the steady _click-click-click_ of her needles underscoring Hardison and Eliot’s latest round of bickering as they tumbled past her into the kitchen.

No-one commented on it, all instinctively aware of the fragility of the trust they were being show.

It’s Tara who breaks their self-imposed silence first, dumping three fat balls of fluffy red wool on Parker’s lap.  “I’m going skiing with a Danish prince next week, can you make me a scarf out of this?”

Four days later, in front of Tara’s usual seat in the briefing area, is a folded up scarf, rich and red, the pattern adding texture and making the drape fold just so around Tara’s neck.

Eliot finds the beanie on his bed two days after the nearly-disastrous mission, where he lost his usual black ski cap while fighting three ninjas on a ski lift.  That cap was scratchy, cheap wool harsh and stiff.  This beanie is soft, shaped so Eliot can tuck all his hair up under it securely while still keeping the top of his ears warm.

He wears it to breakfast the next day; Parker’s cheeks are pink and rosy as she smiles happily at her cereal.

Hardison receives a pair of fingerless mitts, left on his laptop in the back of Lucille.  They are soft, as grey as clouds, the wrist pieces extra think and comfortable.

In the end, Eliot pins him to the floor to yank them off Hardison so they could go in the next wash.

Sophie’s shawl is a masterpiece of lacework, each strand as fine as a spider’s web, the wool shimmery and warm.  Sophie never wears it on a con – she doesn’t want to risk having to leave it behind with the identity she was wearing like a mask.

Nate doesn’t let himself feel put out that he has yet to receive anything, until the brown-paper package arrives at the chateau that he and Soph are calling home for a while, months into their honeymoon.

It’s a sweater, the deepest green, each stitch so fine it doesn’t feel bulky despite the warmth.  It’s like a hug that Parker herself could never give.

Sophie nods the first time he puts it on.  “Time to go home?”

Nate nods, hands rubbing up the sleeves despite himself.  “Home.”


End file.
